The One Where Cartman Totally Fags Out
by Citizenjess
Summary: Cartman likes Kyle, Kyle likes Stan, and Kenny likes anything with two X chromosomes. Slash.


Summary: Cartman likes Kyle, Kyle likes Stan, and Kenny likes anything with two X-chromosomes. Rated PG-13 for bad words.

* * *

**The One Where Cartman Totally Fags Out**

* * *

Cartman realizes that he's probably in love with Kyle when he starts having wet dreams about him. He doesn't think about it much until Kenny catches him staring at Kyle across the library. "Stop fucking mooning over him and go blow him already," Kenny says, irritated, because he's been talking for like five minutes and obviously Cartman hasn't listened to a word of it.

At first, it's easy to just Not Think About It, or to tell himself that sixteen-year-old boys will jerk off to pretty much anything. And Cartman hates Kyle a lot, so and he's pretty sure that that's a better stimulus than those magazines that Stan's Uncle Jimbo has all over his house. Hatred breeds hard-ons, and hard-ons are the way to true enlightenment, after all. They're kind of like Jesus, in a way.

He tries to discuss it with Kenny at one point, but it's a lost cause. For one thing, Kyle doesn't have "gigantic hooters" or a pussy, and that's pretty much all that Kenny has been interested in since he was about eight. But Cartman's desperate, and horny, and that at least is something Kenny can understand. "I saw this chick at the store the other night, and I swear, she had F-cups," Kenny tells him by way of greeting when Cartman joins him at their usual lunch table.

The table is still, technically, albeit unofficially, reserved for Stan and Kyle, as well, but both of them are loaded up with extracurricular activities, and tend to grab something out of the cafeteria and run off again just as quickly these days. And that's the other reason Cartman is so wary of indulging himself in fantasies of shoving his face in Kyle's bright red pubes: because Kyle is hopelessly in love with Stan. Hopelessly, and in a totally obvious and retarded way that makes Cartman think Stan had already shoved his face into Kyle's crotch, and it pisses him off too much to think about it for too long.

"So like, I have this friend," he tells Kenny, who stares longingly at the food heaped on Cartman's tray; Kenny's family is still poor, and while Cartman usually takes great delight in teasing him about this, he knows he isn't going to get very far doing so today. He offers Kenny part of his lasagna and a fruit cup and continues on: "and this friend really wants to tell someone he likes them, but he's not sure what they'll say."

Kenny swallows a large bite of lasagna and smacks his lips. "Dude, tell her you really want to eat her out instead. It's a good icebreaker." He continues to shovel food into his mouth eagerly, just in case Cartman changes his mind.

* * *

It's times like these that makes Cartman wish Chef were still around. His songs about sexing up women and prostitutes and finding the clitoris were sort of confusing when he was a kid, but now in his ripened teenage years, he thinks that Chef's unique brand of wisdom – not to mention, his amazing tuna casserole – would be just the thing to help him out of this funk. And he's not enough of a fag to sit and talk to the Chef's headstone (yet), so that leaves one other option.

Mr. Garrison takes over for South Park's High's veteran mathematics teacher after she gets run over by a Mack truck driven by an intoxicated circus clown getting a blowjob from a tight-rope walker who looks strangely like David Hasselhoff, so unfortunately, Cartman still sees him five days a week. He doesn't relish the thought of confiding in any authority figure, least of all about his designs on Kyle Broflovski, but Mr. Garrison is gay, or at least he used to be before he had a sex change, and it's still better than being ass-raped by Chuck Norris' fist, or something.

"Well, Eric, I'm glad you came to me," Mr. Garrison tells him. "It's nice to know you feel comfortable telling me such personal things about yourself."

"Yeah, I don't, actually," Cartman says, waving his hand. "But Chef's dead and my mom's a slut, so you're like, the next best option or something."

"Oh, I see." Mr. Garrison falters a little. "Well, Eric, the important thing is, you're addressing these feelings with someone, including yourself. How long have you felt that you were a homosexual?"

"I haven't," Cartman replies unhelpfully.

"O-kay …" Mr. Garrison scratches his head. "Then why did you say you had to talk to me about 'something gay'?"

"Okay, fine, I like Kyle, all right?" Cartman snaps. "I wanna pound Kyle's tight ass, and spit on his face and call him a dirty Jew." He pauses. "Or uh, I mean, my friend wants to pound Kyle's tight ass."

"Oh. I, um. Wow." Mr. Garrison purses his lips. "That's really fucked up."

"Hey!" Cartman glares.

"Sorry, sorry." Mr. Garrison waves his hands. "Uh, what I meant to say was, isn't Stan Marsh already shoving his face into Kyle's crotch?"

Cartman groans. Apparently, Stan and Kyle fagging out on each other isn't just in his overactive and racially divisive imagination. "Possibly," he says warily.

"Well, then, you can either tell him honestly how you feel and forever feel awkward when you see them together, knowing that your feelings change nothing and that you'll always have an unrequited relationship, or keep it bottled inside until it causes you to go into a deep rage, which either results in your ultimate demise or serves as the impetus for you to kill twenty people during a busy Friday night at Bennigan's." Mr. Garrison clears his throat. "Or you know. Something like that."

Cartman decides he hates absolutely everybody in this town. Including Kyle, who he hates most of all.

* * *

Cartman's always been good at harboring rage, but he's never been very skilled at pretending that nothing is wrong when he's pissed off about something. His unrequited crush on Kyle remains a secret for exactly three more weeks, until he finally decides that he will massacre his entire school and plead insanity and eat his own fecal matter when the court asks his lawyer to prove it, and that's how he finds himself waiting outside the room where the weekly meeting of the Young Democrats is just finishing up.

Kyle is a member of five clubs, and the leader of two, and he looks as surprised to see Cartman as he was the day he accidentally walked in on Wendy Testaburger and Bebe going down on each other in the abandoned classroom he'd rented out for Anime Club meetings. "What are you doing here?" he asks cautiously, and looks around as if expecting an ambush, because with Cartman, it's always a viable option.

"Oh, Kyle," Cartman feigns, "I uh, fancy running into you here. I was just passing by and thought, 'oh wait, isn't Kyle's meeting with the Young Democrats just finishing up now? I should go and say hello.'"

"Uh-huh." Kyle stares at him suspiciously. He starts walking away, but Cartman falls into step with him. "Look, Cartman, I've gotta drop some things off to the Principal, and then I have to make sure Ike eats dinner and gets to his Jew Scout meeting, so I'll see you, okay?"

"Okay, but – but I really need to talk to you about something," Cartman blurts out. Kyle seems to sense a note of desperation and stops walking. "Alone," Cartman indicates. He glances into the room Kyle has just exited as the last occupant leaves. "Please?"

Kyle looks confused, but eventually nods. "Okay," he agrees, trailing behind the other boy. "But make it quick."

Cartman takes a deep breath. He stares at his feet, and then at Kyle's, and then at Kyle staring back at him with thinly-veiled irritation. "Well, Kyle," he begins, "this is difficult for me to say, especially since I've always hated you and think that you will burn in the fiery pits of Hell for all eternity. You have stupid hair, and your mom is a cunt, and those little hats Jews wear are like totally lame."

"Look, Cartman, I really don't have time to listen to this today," Kyle groans.

"But I've realized lately that even though I think you're a thieving Jew rat, deep down, I um, I'm pretty sure I want to pound your ass," he says quickly.

Kyle looks like he's having trouble breathing. "Pardon?" he gasps.

"I said that, even though I think you're a thie-"

"No, no, I heard you. Christ, I heard you," Kyle gulps. He runs a hand through his hair and blinks at Cartman sort of wildly. "Man," he mutters, and then exhales. "Look, Cartman, I'm flattered, but –"

"It's okay, Kyle, you don't have to say anything," Cartman smiles, clasping his hands in front of him. "Sometimes, there just aren't words suitable for the occasion." He starts to lean in, puckering his lips; his eyes flutter close, and then fly open again a few seconds later when nothing happens. "Hello, I was trying to kiss you, asshole!" he yells.

"I know, but why?" Kyle exclaims, backing away.

"Because, that's what you do when you want someone to fall into your passionate embrace," Cartman explains. He'd seen 'Titanic' one-hundred and forty-seven times, after all, and that movie was gayer than Lance Bass having an orgy with the entire cast of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. He starts towards Kyle again, but the other boy holds up his hand, his face solemn.

"Look, Cartman. I'm flattered, okay, I – I really am. But I … I don't really feel the same way. I … I'm you're friend, I guess, but I don't like you like that. I'm sorry." Cartman blinks dumbly at him, and Kyle takes it as an opportunity to duck around him.

"Is it … because of Stan?" Cartman whispers, not bothering to turn around to face him again.

Kyle blinks. "Maybe it's got something to do with Stan. Look, I'll see you later or something, all right?" The door closes behind him before Cartman has a chance to respond.

* * *

They're all in their early twenties when Kyle and Stan decide to get hitched. They can't do it legally yet, but they plan a large mixed-faith commitment ceremony, so both Stan's Catholic roots and Kyle's Jewish background can be observed. Stan's mom even manages to find a traveling Christian priest who performs gay marriage rites, and between her and Mrs. Broflovski, pretty much everybody Stan and Kyle have ever known shows up.

This includes Cartman, of course. In truth, he hasn't been anywhere near a synagogue or anything remotely resembling a Jewish celebration since that whole unfortunate incident involving Mel Gibson, but his mom runs into Kyle's mom at the supermarket and suddenly he's getting fitted for a suit jacket. It's an outdoor ceremony because it's being held during the two months in South Park when the weather gets above thirty degrees, but the reception afterwards is being held in a large rec center that's been rented out. And inside one of two bathrooms on the lower floor of that rec center is where Cartman finds Kyle, taking a last minute wiz and fiddling with his tie. "Nervous?" he asks.

"Aaahh!" Kyle jumps and whips around quickly. "Oh, it's you," he says, his face relaxing quickly. "What's up, Cartman."

"Not much." It was true; he'd gotten through high school all right, mostly by cheating off people, but struck with a bad case of Senioritis, and living with a mother who'd only just begun to gripe about him 'pulling his weight', literally and figuratively, around the Cartman residence, he'd only just gotten back into the swing of regular school, attending classes at the local community college. Stan and Kyle had gone off to State together, and Kenny had somehow managed to land a full theatre scholarship out of Colorado altogether, so Cartman only saw him on holidays and such.

"Ah." Kyle glares at himself in the mirror. "Goddammit," he swears, yanking at the two ends of his tie with shaking hands. "I never could figure out how to do this."

"Let me," Cartman offers. He crosses the small distance and begins to expertly knot the accessory. "I guess there are some things they don't teach you at college."

"Heh, yeah." An awkward silence follows, and both boys struggle to look anywhere but at each other. "Look, Cartman," Kyle begins, just as Cartman begins to speak. "You first," Kyle says quickly.

"I –" Cartman begins, but is suddenly unsure of how to go on. In his mind, he pictures himself forcing himself on Kyle, or even better, keeping him from getting married to Stan altogether. He thinks about shoving him into a closet and barricading the door, then initiating a town-wide search; he sees himself consoling Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski, and clucking his tongue sympathetically as Stan breaks down. The plan forms in his head as easily as they ever have, reminding him of the countless number of times he's managed to wreak his own special breed of havoc.

He considers it seriously, staring at Kyle's nervous, curious face, how it's obvious that he actually has to shave regularly now, not like when they were all twelve and only pretended that they did. He could do it, he knows, if only for a little while; he could keep Kyle from marrying Stan. But then he realizes, possibly for the first and only time in his life, that he shouldn't. He shouldn't ruin Kyle's special day, and he shouldn't wish unhappiness on somebody just because they're with the person he kind of wants to be with. He shouldn't be resentful just because the universe doesn't always revolve around him.

"I – I just wanted to say, uh, good luck," he finally, settles on, and pats Kyle on the shoulder affectionately. "Good luck, Kyle, you stupid Jew rat."

"Wow, thanks Cartman. Uh, fat-ass." Kyle grins. He scrutinizes himself again in the mirror. "Well, here I go, "he says, and strolls out the door in a passable display of confidence.

Cartman watches him leave and smiles sadly. "That'll do, Jew," he says softly. "That'll do."


End file.
